


an inveterate buonapartist

by smithens



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Arguing, Canon Era, Dialogue Heavy, logic and philosophy week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"Passion alone will not give the boy dedication, Enjolras, and as it is quite apparent that he has learned nothing over his time with us - by God, I cannot fathom what Courfeyrac was thinking -"</p>
  <p>"<em>Combeferre.</em>"</p>
</blockquote>A retort and a song give rise to a quarrel.
            </blockquote>





	an inveterate buonapartist

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't as nearly as shippy as I had planned it to be, unfortunately, and it lacks a lot of description on account of being mostly dialogue. it is, however, my first fic for logic and philosophy week!
> 
> thanks to Elliot (anacrea on ao3) for reading this before i posted it, and thanks to Oilan for hosting the week!

"He is a passionate fellow, anyhow," Enjolras said as he took Combeferre's arm.

The gesture did not serve to alleviate Combeferre's indignation. 

"Passion alone will not give the boy dedication, Enjolras, and as it is quite apparent that he has learned nothing over his time with us - by God, I cannot fathom what Courfeyrac was thinking -"

" _Combeferre._ "

It was broad daylight; they were walking to Enjolras's lodging after dining together for brunch. The walk ought to have been brief, but Combeferre was idling, still troubled from their conversation at the café. The prior evening's events had stirred him, loath to admit it as he was.

"Combeferre," Enjolras repeated, and though before he had been chastising, his voice now was soft, purposeful. Combeferre's frown was plainly visible. "I am certain that at the time Courfeyrac first brought Marius Pontmercy into our midst, which, need I remind you, was weeks ago, his thoughts were benign. You must not misplace your blame. You are a better man than that."

Feeling chastised, if only for his mention of their friend, Combeferre briefly bowed his head. Their walk continued, as did Enjolras's reprimand.

"Do believe me, Combeferre, to hear him speak of Buonaparte in such a manner was a dismay. On that we agree, yes?" - Combeferre did not dare to interject, but he nodded - "but you forget that he is, as you said, a boy. Not yet nineteen years of age, Courfeyrac told me! It will not do for us to halt his enlightenment as it has just begun. You speak of progress so often. I entreat you now to allow it in him."

To argue with Enjolras was often to argue with marble, but that had never stopped Combeferre from trying. In the past, their quarrels often led to a greater mutual understanding: politically, socially, and emotionally. As for their other quarrels, those ended in regretful apologies.

As they neared Enjolras's residence, their pace slowed further. Combeferre took his time to think before speaking: "Progress in the minds of men will only take its course if one is amenable to change, Enjolras. At Pontmercy's age, I assure you, my own opinions -"

"- were that of a conservative republican," Enjolras cut in again, his voice sharp. He released Combeferre's arm and stepped aside. The street was deserted; they would not be interrupted. In addition, they were stopped across the street from Enjolras's establishment. "Do not think to tell me that they were any different; I know better. You were not the same man at eighteen as you are now at six and twenty, Combeferre."

 Having not been on the receiving end of one of Enjolras's glares for a very long time, Combeferre drew back. Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

"Neither were you the same man at two and twenty, that which I can recall quite clearly."

And suddenly, Combeferre understood.

This was not about political opinions, those of Marius or otherwise, and no longer was it about his own actions the previous evening - it was about his hypocrisy. Combeferre spoke often of the importance of developing a young mind; in self-interest, in temper, he had ignored his own creed.

He blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, could not find the words, and closed it again.

Enjolras's expression softened. "We have our disputes, you and I. This need not be one of them," he said, taking Combeferre's hand in his own. "You recall, also, do you not? I shan't ever forget our first meeting."

"Nor I. It was dreadful."

"Calamitous."

Combeferre cleared his throat. "At any rate, I treated you then far worse than I have treated Marius Pontmercy at all."

Enjolras tilted his head in the direction of the building with a reserved smile. Hands still clasped, they walked together until they reached the porch. "The fault for that is not solely yours. I was inveterate... but just as an inveterate radical can adjust, so can an inveterate Buonapartist. Let us remember that." He knocked at the door to alert the porter.

"And an inveterate conservative republican," Combeferre replied. A pause, then: "I owe you thanks."

Enjolras smiled, and released his hand just as the porter opened the door to allow them entrance. As they entered, each with a polite nod, Enjolras said, "And I to you."

Combeferre was thoroughly confused. “I have done nothing but exasperate you.” Enjolras chuckled, and they began up the stairs.

“As earlier, Combeferre, you are wrong,” he said. “You see, I had not experienced the pleasure of hearing you sing until yesterday.”

The tremor of sincerity in his voice was enough to give Combeferre pause. In that moment of silence, Enjolras spoke his afterthought. “I do hope to hear you sing again.”

Combeferre smiled to himself. “You will, then.”

“Not in a retort to Marius Pontmercy.”

“No, I shall sing for you.”

“I should be honored.”


End file.
